Tree Sheppard

Once there was a small boy whose job it was to protect the young tree that grew outside of the village where he lived.

Every morning, his mother would send him off into the early dawn with some food for lunch and his little spear to fend off anything that might come to threaten the tree before it was strong enough to protect itself.

He would make his way sleepily along the pathway out of the tiny village of sturdily built huts out to the plains where the sapling stood alone against the rising sun of the horizon.

Once there, the young boy would sit with his legs crossed beside the green tree and watch vigilantly for any danger that might come across the open plains.

Every evening, after the long hours in the hot sun or drizzling rain, he would head home to share a humble meal with his mother and then fall exhaustedly to sleep on his simple straw mattress bed until the next day when he would begin his routine anew.

From time to time a small animal or two would come along and the boy would dutifully fend them off with his little spear and then proudly tell his mother the tale of how he defended his tree from a desert fox or burrowing badger that night before he drifted off to sleep.

There were other children in the village, but they all either went out to work in the far fields or hunt in the plains to the south with their fathers, so he kept to himself and his task of defending the tree and he was happy with his duty, such as it was.

As the tree grew tall and strong so too did the boy and each day he still went out to stand guard in the growing shade of the tree's lush foliage. Filling his days with practice with his spear and bow and arrow he became a skilled marksmen and an agile fighter, though the biggest animal he had faced was a lone hyena; he occasionally brought home an antelope that had passed near his spot by the tree.

Years passed and the village prospered and grew and the man that the boy had become continued to go out each day to his tree to defend it from any threats that might still come.

There came a night when a fierce storm came rolling across the sky and lightning struck one of the thatched roof huts and caught ablaze, causing the entire village to come out into the night to try and stop the flames from spreading.

While the others brought pails of water from the well to dowse out the fire, the man rush to his tree to make sure he had not been struck as well. However, when the tree came into view on the horizon he knew it was still standing unharmed; its branches now stretching out expansively in a canopied dome that sheltered a large circumference of ground beneath it.

Soon his mother grew old and frail and he would take her out to the tree with him so she could be with him and rest under the tree's full shade. When the time came, she passed away under its boughs and he buried her at the foot of the tree's thick trunk so she could continue to be near him as he stood on watch.

Years went on and the strong young man became old himself, but he came out to the tree each morning still, slowing making his way out as the sun rose in the sky.

All of his life was devoted to making sure the tree was safe from harm and he never once resented his duty, for he had life a peaceful life with the beauty of nature all around him.

When finally his time came, the people of the village buried their old tree Sheppard beside where his mother and father lay, and there they rest today, the ancient tree now doing its duty of standing guard.

RX

RX-120 fought his programming with all of the might he could muster and stepped out from under the awning into the pouring rain.

Strained whirling noises came from the gears in his metal legs and arms as the servomotors tried to work against him, to turn him back toward shelter.

Yet even as his own robot body fought him, RX-120's heart would not let him retreat, for his mechanical heart beat with only one purpose; with one desire: to be with the one he loved.

And right now, his love had been caught out in the down pour, and nothing would stop him from bringing her back. Not even the basic fundamentals of his primary programming to never cause harm to himself.

And very few things brought harm to a robot more then a deluge of rain.

Sparks flew and steam erupted from his joints and seams as he made his way laboriously through the rain to where NT-53 stood frozen in mid-motion only a few meters away; a few meters that seemed as though they were a few thousand to his grinding gears and cogs.

Yet, he would not relent until he reached her.

With each plodding step he came closer to his robot love; and with each step, his freedom of motion seized further up, both from the moisture flooding his insides and his CPU shutting itself down.

Through his diminishing vision he could see her reaching out to him with her cold, metal mandibles and he reach out to her in kind, straining with all the resolve that was in his malfunctioning heart.

One last jerking step and his tin finger tips made contact with hers, a tiny 'tink' sounding their final contact. Then, he too, rusted still where he stood.

In the morning, after the long stormy night, Duncan stepped out of the front door and into the fresh, spring air and smiled at how lovely the day was. Walking to the car, he looked down to notice the two little toy robots that were out on the walkway, seemingly holding hands as they stood facing each other; their little arms out-stretch to one another.

Tsk-ing to himself, he shook his head. He was going to have to talk to Tim about leaving his toys out in the rain again.

Bending down to scoop them up, he went to the garage door and opened it up to hurriedly place the two rusted robots on his workbench to try and oil after he got back from the grocery store.

In the pitch dark, after the door was closed, the tiniest sound could be heard; the sound of small, rusty metal hands closing in around each other.

I Awaken

I awaken, as always, in the dimly lit room that smells of dirt and decay. The smells fill my sensitive nostrils with their sweet sickly scent as I take in a deep breath and open my eyes to see the familiar frame of the wooden box in which I slumber.

Above me, the domed stone ceiling of the deepest of chambers in the ancient castle I have called my home for centuries. I can hear the little creatures scurrying and crawling their way around the walls and the howling of the wolves outside, just beginning their nightly hunt.

I feel the eternal hunger within not only my stomach, but also throughout my entire body as my veins cry out for sustenance. It is time I, like my brethren the creatures of the night, begin my nightly hunt.

I dreamt of the sweet innocent beauty I saw last in the small village on the edge of my wood. I dreamt of her soft, porcelain skin of her neck and of sinking my razor sharp teeth into it.

Smiling with the thought of the pleasure to come, I rise out of the ornate coffin to go out into the night, for I, am Dracula.

From Deep Down

From deep down, below the water's murky surface, she arose; and he watched from the shadows underneath the ancient trees of the forest.

Tales of the loveliness of the Woman of the Lake were legendary, yet all the sonnets told and odes sung did her breathtaking beauty no justice; it was unsurpassed.

So much so, that he found himself holding his breath as her form ascended further out of the water, her dark hair clinging to her breasts, covering her otherwise bare skin.

Slowly she waded over to the shallow shore of the small forest lake, exposing more of her porcelain skin as the water slid down the curves of her body, and headed directly toward where he skulked in the shadows.

Quickly he diverted his gaze as she came fully out from the dark waters, so he did not see her fully or the knowing smile that she wore on her full, red lips.

Standing unabashed, the beauty from the deep looked piercingly at the hiding young man and called out to him, telling him it was alright; to come out from the shade.

Sheepishly, the young man stepped forward, still averting his stare from her nude form. Stepping to him, the woman brought her face close enough to his that he could feel her sweet breath on his skin and asked the shy boy why he did not look her in the eye.

Looking up hesitantly, the young man gazed into her dark eyes, deep within them he saw the same murkiness as the lake from whence she came; and he felt himself falling into the cold chill of the waters.

He tried to stop himself from going under, but it was too late.

The splashing and thrashing from his struggles slowly became still as he disappeared under the water and the lake's surface clamed once again.

Quiet chirps from nearby birds nesting in the surround trees were the only sounds as the solitary pool sat serenely untouched.

Awaiting another curious youth to come and admire its mysterious splendour.

Jungle Boogie

Drifting through the dense growth of the steamy jungle, a melodious voice weaved its way into Jessie's ears. The intoxicating refrain drew him along through the leafy plants that grew thickly around the base of the high-reaching trees, covering his already sweat-drenched clothes with their moisture.

As he moved along in a daze, a thumping beat began to thump around the siren voice, causing Jessie's head to start bobbing in sync with the jungle rhythm.

Pulling back a huge green leaf, Jessie revealed an open area in the thicket of the jungle where a multitude of men and women moved and grooved to the song that was being sung by a beautiful, wrap-dress clad woman standing on an elevated stage in the middle of the crowd.

The stage was the level stump of a huge tree and joining her was a percussionist, pounding away on a variety of different drum skins and bamboo shoots to create the thumping beat that now throbbed in Jessie's chest; and a single guitarist, who strummed a simple acoustic guitar that filled in the space just under the singer's haunting voice.

The dancers all moved and gyrated to the trio's rhythm around the stage, their drenched clothes clinging to their vibrating bodies; and without a thought of the strangeness of the fact there was a dance club out in the middle of the jungle, Jessie moved to join in.

No one seemed to be paying attention to each other; they only closed their eyes to take in the music and danced by themselves in the crowd as Jessie did the same.

Another trio appeared from the undergrowth behind Jessie and looked curiously at what they saw.

"My word," Johansson exclaimed as he stepped up beside Harrington. "What on Earth is Reeds doing?"

"I believe the poor chap was exposed to those poisonous Wihikita blooms back there." Smithwick said as he patted his sweating brow with a polka dotted handkerchief. "He must have brushed up against his leg as he passed them."

The three explorers watched as their companion danced wildly by himself to some unheard music in his hallucinating mind.

"I warned him about wearing short pants in the jungle." Harrington pointed to Jamie Reeds exposed legs. "But he insisted he needed to feel the breeze on his skin or he'd go mad."

"I'm not quite sure he feels it now." Johansson remarked.

Taking no notice of his companions, Professor Reeds continued to dance and gyrate feverishly to the enchanting songstress's jungle melody, his abandoned cargo shorts worn now, on his head.  

https://youtu.be/Lr2QqPp_Y4k

Slumbering Sydney

Sidney fell asleep under an old oak tree for a thousand years.

The years passed and the world grew and changed around him; forests grew ancient and then were cleared away; cities built up and crumbled down; whole civilizations rose and fell; all the while, Sidney slumbered.

No one bothered him as he slept, as far as they knew he had always been there and always would be.

Whenever people came upon the old oak and the man sleeping beneath it, they would say that he dreamed the world up as he slept and if he ever awoke everything would wink out of existence.

So they would creep away as quietly as they could, for fear they might awaken Slumbering Sydney, and go back to their homes and tell others of him and to not wake up the old man by the oak, for they were all just his dream.

Then there came a time, when one civilization was coming to a terrible end, and a lost young child stumbled their way through the wastes that were the remnants of some long fought war, and they found Sydney, still sleeping under his old oak tree.

The child had heard the tales of how the world was only inside the snoozing old man's mind, but they had lost all of their family and would be glad to have the world, and their sadness, end.

So, they snuck quietly up to the snoring Sydney and gently shook him awake.

Sydney opened his eyes after a thousand years and he saw a scared and dirty little child crouched in front of him.

He blinked a few times as he took in the scorched landscape spread out behind the child, and then regarded the young one silently.

"What were you dreaming of, old man?" The child asked hesitantly, fearing the answer.

"You know," Sydney spoke raspy after finding his voice. "I think I did dream of the world. But not like this"

With help from the young survivor, Sydney stood up and stretched out his crackling limbs and spine then took the child's hand in his.

"It looks as though the world could do with a little rest itself." He declared as he waved his arm across the landscape. "Let's go see if you and I can't go try and tidy up a bit. I need a shave and you're a bit of a mess yourself."

He swiped his finger on the child's nose, cleaning a small smug of dirt off and gave a wink that made the child smile for the first time in a very long time.

As the two walked across the land, green life grew up wherever Sydney stepped, and by the time they had reached the rising sun on the horizon, the once burnt land was in full bloom. Just as Sydney had dreamt.

Bigfoot, P.I.

The steamy morning air hung thickly throughout the forest in the early hours just after the sun's rays had started breaking though the canopy of foliage.

Most of the woodland creatures were still nestled in their various dens, borrows, and shelters, so there was an eerie lack of the usual din of the forest.

Sach lumbered up to where Lieutenant Hopper stood beside a pile of leaves at the foot of a majestic, old oak tree, a few other officers from the Forest Police loped around collecting data.

Despite his size, Sach was able to come right up behind them unnoticed until he grunted to clear his throat, sending the younger officers skittering away to the closest log or stump to hide behind.

Lt. Hopper only gave a small start as he turned to look up at Sach.

"Ack! I don't know how you can be so quiet with those big feet of yours, Detective." The stout little police lieutenant exclaimed. "Get back out here, you scared little rabbits, you're supposed to be officers!" he shouted to the hidden others, causing them to leap out and back to their duties faster than they had hid.

Lt. Hopper craned his neck to look up at the giant Sach, then back down to the unmoving figure lying on the leafy forest ground.

"One of the boys found her on his way in this morning, though why he was taking the scenic route I'm not quite sure of." Hopper explained as he looked over to one of the young officers, who quickly made himself look busy.

"In any case," he went on, "Looks like her neck was broken quite violently." He knelt down to lift the big, leaf-filled branch that was covering most of the carcass from the sight of any passerby.

Underneath lay a young doe, her head turned almost completely around. Her dark eyes stared lifelessly up at Sach; he recognized her right away.

He knelt down beside the tiny police rabbit to get a closer look.

"She couldn't have done that by just falling on her own." Hopper stated as his nose wrinkled from some scent in the air. "Big, articulated hands would have had to have done that, don't you think?"

Sach traced his large fingers along the doe's neck where the skin was twisted, then regarded his own hand before looking over to see Hopper inspecting his big hand as well. He took his hand away to run his fingers over his furry chin as he thought.

"There doesn't seem to be any tracks save for the victims." Hopper continued after a few moments of uneasy silence. "They come in from the south there, and suggest a frantic prancing, like she was trying to get away from something."

Sach looked to were Hopper motioned and saw several broken branches on several different shrubs, some quite a few foot-spans away from each other. She had been taking wild leaps, possibly trying to lose something off her trail.

"We called you down because the only thing we've found is this." Hopper said as Sach turned back to see he was holding out one of Sach's own birch bark business cards. "She was carrying it with her. Did you know her, detective?"

Sach looked at the card, which simply read, 'Sasquatch: Bigfoot Private Detective Agency'. It had been only two days earlier that the pretty, young doe visited him at his tree-top office in mid-forest.

She had been scared, terrified of something that she said was after her. Sach saw in her deep brown eyes that she was indeed afraid; afraid for her life. Yet, she had no real details for him to work with; she had just kept describing a dread presence that she could not get away from.

He had told her that there was not much he could do about a foreboding feeling; he mostly dealt with missing cubs or hunter attack cases. She said she was desperate and could pay him, but all he could do was give her his card and tell her to contact him if she got anything concrete for him to work with; a tuft of hair or track for him to sniff out.

The only thought he had in the back of his mind at the time was a thought that was always there, wherever Sach went, so he had paid it little attention at the time; now it came to the forefront and weighed down heavily with guilt.

"Well, detective?" Hopper's strangely gravelly voice brought Sach back from his thoughts, "did you know the victim?"

Before he could say, one of the officers came bounding over to them excitedly, carrying something between his bucked teeth.

Skidding to a halt as Hopper stepped up to stop the eager rabbit from crashing into the dead deer, he dropped the white piece of fur from his mouth into the lieutenant's paw.

"I found this scraped up on the bark of an elm back there, sir!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "I don't think it came from the victim cause it's a different shade than hers!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, son." Hopper tried to quiet the officer down with a pad on the back. "Very good, now go see if you can find any more over there. I'll look at this. Good work."

The young officer nodded proudly and bounced away back where he had come from as Hopper turned the strands of white hair over to look at them.

Sach bent down further to take a closer look as well. They were defiantly not from the doe; hers were a soft, cream ecru, while this was an almost translucent white.

"What do you make of these, Sach?" Hopper asked as he sniffed the hairs with a sudden expression of disgust on his furry face. "Urg, smells worse than a bear in spring!"

There was no need for Sach to take a closer smell; he had caught the scent before the officer had left them. The scent, much like the thought always lurking in the back of his mind, was forever with him.

A distant howl came, like a whisper on the wind, causing Sach to stand and look northward.

"What is it, detective?" Hopper asked sincerely.

His old enemy had returned it would seem.

Staring off into the thick maze of the dark forest of the north, Sasquatch growled softly, and responded in a hushed voice, "Wendigo."